


The Suffering of Shirabu Kenjirou

by plumtrees



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Dates, M/M, Pre-Relationship, basically tendou is a conniving bastard, so is the rest of shiratorizawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: There was silence for a while. Heavy, uncertain silence eased only by Shirabu’s mind working up a list of ways to dispose of his teammates’ bodies. Ushijima looked deep in thought, as he always did, and Shirabu was mentally debating the efficiency of concentrated sulfuric acid when Ushijima spoke up again.
  “In that case, would you still like to go see that movie? Even with just the two of us?”
  Shirabu’s pretty sure if this was an anime, this would be the sequence where he’d have smoke blowing out of his ears, face glowing an unnatural shade of pink, with matching sound effects and a record scratch and kyaa, kyaaa—
  His teammates were so dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written while waiting for my beta to give the a-ok for my iwakin fic. Also because I need more shiratoris. I need more ushishiras. Ya feel?

Seven minutes.

Shirabu had been waiting for a grand total of seven minutes.

He checked his watch again, just to be sure he wasn’t too early, checked his phone and checked the street sign to make sure he wasn’t in the wrong place. All good. So where the hell was everyone?

To be fair, it wasn’t exactly _time_ yet. Tendou’s text had said _The captain has spoken!! !! !!!!! Team dinner and movie night tomo!!! Meet @ 5PM!! ! ! The conbini @ corner of Wakano 3-chome! See yoooouuUUuUU guyzzzz~_ followed by a slew of emojis that Shirabu had stopped trying to glean meaning from after seeing the love hotel emoji.

(Though he _did_ take the time to admire the selfie that came with the text: Tendou with an arm slung around a stone-faced Ushijima’s shoulder while he made a peace sign with bandaged fingers, probably taken just after Saturday practice).

Shirabu blew out a puff of frustration. Shirabu wasn’t entirely sure how Tendou did it, talking Ushijima into saying yes to literally anything he suggested: from watching the newest anime or drama or movie to having a team bonding activity on a Sunday. As if the three hours six times a week still wasn’t enough for them to be sick of each other’s faces.

Then again, Shirabu definitely wouldn’t say no to seeing Ushijima on all days of the week if he were a more honest person—which he wasn’t, so he was dead set on pretending that all this was bothersome and a gigantic waste of time he’d rather spend doing…nothing really.

Another quick glance at his watch confirmed that it just turned 4:58PM, the third hand wagging like a taunt as it ticked with every passing second. Usually most of them would be here by now. Reon and Yamagata would’ve been here before he’d even arrived. In the two years that he’d known the seniors, it seemed as if they’d always been early to arrive for anything. 

Five minutes before the designated meetup time Tendou and Semi would usually show up, standing far too close and whispering just a little too softly (which was suspicious, if one knew Tendou, because it was almost like he was born with the inability to speak any lower than 85 decibels and if there was one skill Semi had that Shirabu wanted more than anything, it was the ability to make Tendou quiet down around him). 

Right on time would be Kawanishi (and Shirabu had always harbored this theory that he’d just be dallying around one block away until it was actually time to meet, to avoid having to interact with them any more than he had to). 

Then always, _always_ late was Goshiki, who would rush in panting and spewing out some excuse that Shirabu never really bothered to listen to.

Ushijima, of course, would arrive on time as well, sometimes just a minute or two early, and Shirabu was pretty sure it wasn’t out of any desire to get out of spending more time with them, but simply because the invite said a certain time and it would only be logical to arrive at said time.

“Shirabu?”

Shirabu nearly jumped. Nearly. But he managed to grab his dignity by the throat and grasp it between sweaty, sweaty hands before turning to face Ushijima, who, again, had arrived right on time, as confirmed by a quick glance at his watch.

“Ushijima-san.” Shirabu greeted, bowing slightly. “I was almost afraid I got the wrong place.”

“No one is here yet?” Ushijima asked, glanced at the street sign, as if making sure that this was, indeed, Wakano 3-chome. He blinked and pulled his phone out, Shirabu’s eyes drawing straight to the silver eagle charm hanging from the side. “Let me contact Tendou.”

He put his phone to his ear, and Shirabu took that time to lazily drag his eyes (because yeah, sure that was totally _not_ sleazy at all, checking out your senior while they were distracted) over Ushijima’s outfit. He rarely ever saw him in anything but sports attire, so it came as a wonderful surprise to find out that he actually had a pretty solid fashion sense. Nice-fitting jeans and a v-neck shirt layered with an expensive-looking jacket that went just past his hips, only barely obscuring his view of that ass—

Which was suddenly not in view anymore, because Ushijima had turned to face him again, the slight hint of a frown on his face.

“He said he got sick from the rain last night. And that Semi was sick as well because they had walked home together without umbrellas.” Ushijima pressed his phone to his ear again. “I’m calling Reon.”

“I’ll call Kawanishi and Goshiki.” He volunteered, suddenly feeling a crawling in his gut as he flicked his phone open and browsed his contacts. No way, there was no way. Surely none of them were _that_ evil.

Wait. Scratch that.

Kawanishi hadn’t answered at all, even after five consecutive calls, and when Goshiki’s turn came he simply rejected the call after the third ring, and Shirabu received a hurried, typo-ridden message that basically said _SORRY SENPAI, TENDOU-SAN’S ORDERS_ and nothing else.

“Reon said his grandfather suddenly asked him to walk their dogs. Yamagata’s not picking up.”

“That’s…strange.” Shirabu answered, sounding a bit strangled. He was going to kill them. _Kill_ them. He’d kill them and Washijou-sensei wouldn’t even give him any grief about it because it wasn’t like the volleyball club didn’t have a hundred other members—

“Shirabu.”

Shirabu looked up, hoping that none of his murderous intent showed on his face. “Yes?”

“I apologize.” Ushijima said, hand flexing around his phone in a habit Shirabu recognized as something Ushijima did when he was at a loss. “I know you live a bit far from here and—”

“It’s fine!” Shirabu gently cut off, quickly put his hands up in reassurance. “I had nothing planned for today anyway.”

There was silence for a while. Heavy, uncertain silence eased only by Shirabu’s mind working up a list of ways to dispose of his teammates’ bodies. Ushijima looked deep in thought, as he always did, and Shirabu was mentally debating the efficiency of concentrated sulfuric acid when Ushijima spoke up again.

“In that case, would you still like to go see that movie? Even with just the two of us?”

Shirabu’s pretty sure if this was an anime, this would be the sequence where he’d have smoke blowing out of his ears, face glowing an unnatural shade of pink, with matching sound effects and a record scratch and _kyaa, kyaaa_ —

“Of course.” He replied, fighting to keep his voice even. “I mean, if that’s alright with you.” Easy. Monotone. Totally not suspicious at all. He brought a hand up to brush back his bangs, subtly feeling for his face’s temperature. Not any warmer than normal. Good. Thank his genes for tiny peripheral capillaries.

Ushijima nodded, satisfied, and started on his way. Shirabu docilely followed, keeping a safe distance.

His teammates were _so_ dead.

 

-

 

From 3-chome it was only a short walk to the bus stop, one that would drop them off at the only mall in the vicinity. Of course, he and Ushijima had to be sat next to each other, Shirabu had already expected that. What he _didn’t_ expect was the fresh, clean scent of Ushijima’s detergent that came with every inhale. He realized he’d never actually sat next to Ushijima. Ever. Not for any of their trips to a practice match or to a tournament, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he regretted that fact or not. Would it have helped him be more prepared for this moment? Maybe. Would it have helped quell his spiralling-out-of-control, anything-but-innocent attraction for his senior? Absolutely not.

To distract himself (which was kind of futile, because every breath only served as a reminder that he was literally shoulder-to-shoulder with his middle-school-idol-turned-high-school-crush) he pulled up the mall cinema’s schedule on his phone, looking through the selections. There was a zombie film, a slice-of-life comedy, a book adaptation...

“Do you have any movie preferences, Ushijima-san?”

“None.” Ushijima answered, eyes straight ahead. “I think I would’ve been alright with whatever Tendou would have picked.”

Shirabu ignored the slight pang at the easy mention of Tendou’s name. He continued to browse, checking the timeslots and matching them up with their ETA at the mall.

“Would you like to have dinner before the movie?”

There were probably a lot of good answers to that question: _yes_ or _no_ being the ideal ones, but caught off-guard, Shirabu could only reply with a very articulate “huh?”

“Would you like to have dinner before the movie?” Ushijima repeated neatly, tone consistent. “I believe that was the original plan? Dinner then the movie.”

“Dinner.” Shirabu said, realized that didn’t really mean anything and cursed his brain for failing him at such a crucial moment. “Right. Dinner sounds great. Ushijima-san.”

If Ushijima had noticed anything off, he wasn’t showing it. Then again, he never really did show much of anything. His senior only nodded, and went right back to staring into space.

Fuck dead. Shirabu would kill his teammates, perform some forbidden and quite possibly demonic ritual that might involve sacrificing a goat to bring them back to life, kill them _again_ , and repeat until he was satisfied. Or until he ran out of goats.

They’d all be better fucking fearing for their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shirabu is thirsty an' so am I


	2. Chapter 2

Shirabu shifted slightly, resisting the urge to just sit on his hands after the fifth time he’d repositioned them.

They had already placed their orders (miso and tonkotsu ramen with a side of gyoza), and now that there was no menu to occupy his field of vision, there wasn’t really much of anything for his gaze to rest on. Just Ushijima. Just Ushijima with his broad shoulders and the adorable little flush on his cheeks from the cold and good god that _jaw_ —

He wasn’t going to survive this night intact, was he?

For probably the thousandth time that evening he cursed his teammates. At the same time, he desperately wished they were here. Anyone would do. _Goshiki_ would do. He’d be too busy nitpicking everything he did to properly admire Ushijima. Which was a _good_ thing. The less time his eyes spent on Ushijima the better.

A nasty little voice just behind his ear suddenly hissed _if that’s the case then why do you download all of Tendou-san’s selfies with Ushijima-san then crop out Tendou-san?_

Can it, stupid voice. What do you know?

_I know that you jack off to those pictures of Ushijima-san twice a day you thirsty h—_

“Shirabu.”

He looked up at Ushijima. Or he would have, if he hadn’t been looking at him already. Shit. How long had he been staring?

“Yes?”

“You were glaring at me.” Ushijima pointed out. He didn’t even look bothered by it. Shirabu wondered if anything fazed this man at all— _like if you shot up and kissed him right here right now would he even flinch?_ —no, bad voice. Shut up. “Is something wrong?”

Maybe surviving the night was aiming too high. Maybe he should focus on surviving this dinner first.

“Nothing!” He replied cheerily, conjuring up a smile, albeit a strained one. “I was just thinking about which movie we’d watch later. I was reading the reviews earlier and they all sounded promising.”

That was a lie. There was only one good movie among the selections and it was a horror-thriller from a renowned director in the genre. The rest were just…sludge. The slice-of-life comedy was as dry as a slice of bread left too long in the microwave, the zombie film had about as much thrill as being pushed down a kiddie slide, and the book adaptation should have just stayed a book.

(Critics’ words, not his, but Shirabu was definitely considering a career in movie review now. Really, where else could he get paid for being an asshole?)

Ushijima hummed thoughtfully, taking a short sip of his water. “As I said, feel free to choose whichever you like.”

Shirabu nodded. Paused and clenched his hands in frustration when he realized they had just been unconsciously tearing neat little lines into his napkin.

Silence. Again. Shirabu wasn’t sure if all the awkwardness was just from his end. It wasn’t like Ushijima looked uncomfortable. Maybe he just preferred the silence? But he’d never seemed bothered when Tendou kept nagging him at lunch, even when the topics got personal, but maybe because that was Tendou. 

Shirabu bit his lip at the image of his redheaded senior; who casually wheedled all those personal life stories out of Ushijima, who was the only one, it seemed, who could get him to try out all these silly things from Snapchat filters to participating a pillow fight during training camp, the only one who could sling an arm over his shoulder and call him _Wakatoshi-kun_ in that vaguely flirtatious way that got Shirabu’s blood boiling whenever he witnessed it.

Might as well, right? Might as well rip the band-aid right off and get it over with. His eyes darted to Ushijima’s face, then down to the tattered napkin between his hands, then back again.

“Ushijima-san?” He started, hesitant, waited for the acknowledging grunt before, “Do you…like Tendou-san?”

Ushijima didn’t even blink. “Yes, I do.”

And there it was. There it fucking was, out in the open. He’d just barely managed to hold in the gasp, the sudden shock washing over him like a bucket of ice water. He shot his gaze to the table, rolling them to and fro and blinking rapidly just so the tears wouldn’t well up.

“Tendou is a good friend. He does not look like it, but he’s actually very reliable, and gives sound advice.”

Hold the fuck up. Time out. Wait. Wait. _Wait_. “Friend?”

Ushijima paused, blinked at him twice.

“As in…just a friend?” Shirabu clarified carefully. Because yeah sure everyone might say that Ushijima-san was as dense as osmium but he wasn’t _stupid_ , and if Shirabu didn’t play this sensibly then he might as well just get up on this table right now and announce his feelings through interpretive dance.

“Of course.” Ushijima answered. “Semi would be very upset otherwise.”

…Shirabu was sure that if there was a quota to the number of life-changing revelations one was allowed in one day, then he’d just exceeded his.

“Come again?”

“Semi and Tendou are currently in a relationship.”

He got that. Really, he did. It was just that his brain was a constant feedback loop of _HOW WHAT WHEN WHERE WAIT SO THEY_ WERE _THE ONES I HEARD FOOLING AROUND IN THE STORAGE ROOM I FUCKING_ KNEW _IT_ that he couldn’t really vocalize much of anything else.

“Does that bother you?”

“No!” He insisted. Too loudly. Several heads turned to glare at them and Shirabu shrank back in his seat. Hastily bowing in apology before looking at Ushijima again. “I was just—I mean I had a hunch but I didn’t actually think it was already happening but…”

The food arrived then, cutting him off. Shirabu wisely kept his mouth shut, waiting for the waiter to finish setting up their food and leave before fixing Ushijima with a distressed expression.

“Ushijima-san, are you sure you should be telling me this so casually? Isn’t it…”

“It’s not a secret, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ushijima reassured, murmuring a soft _thank you for the food_ before swirling his noodles. “I think they started in the middle of our second year. They don’t actively promote their relationship, but they never lie when they’re asked.”

“Besides,” Ushijima brought the spoon to his lips, slurping some of the soup, “I don’t really see any reason for them to hide. They’re clearly very happy with each other. And they don’t let what other people say get in the way of that.”

There was a slight edge to Ushijima’s tone, a bite of protectiveness. Shigeru breathed softly, still dumbstruck, still in disbelief.

“That’s…” 

He recalled all those times Tendou and Semi were oddly in-sync, despite Semi claiming to never know what was going on in Tendou’s head, those funny and teasing faces they made from across the court, regardless of whether there was a net between them or not, all those times Tendou directed that rare and fond smile at Semi, so different form his usual sinister grin.

“That’s actually amazing.” He finished, smiling slow and easy, and Ushijima only grunted an affirmative, already chewing his first mouthful of noodles.

Suddenly, it made sense, and Shirabu wondered how he could’ve been so blind.

He looked up only to find the answer was right there in front of him.

-

Shirabu nervously brought the popcorn to his lips, teeth working slowly around the puff as the actress trembled on-screen, hand over her mouth and curled up tight in fear. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to get his heart to dislodge itself from his throat and slide back down to his chest where it belonged. No luck. His heartbeat pulsed monstrously loud around his neck, in time with the protagonist’s rattled breaths. The lack of music only made it worse—better?—because Shirabu usually anchored himself to the resonating echoes of the waterphone, pictured someone behind the camera striking a mallet against the rods and suddenly he wasn’t scared anymore, perfectly composed while his friends cowered behind him or beneath blankets.

But now there was no music. There was nothing but her panicked, too-loud breathing. Where was the murderer? 

Ten seconds. Nothing. Her hands slowly slipped down to her chest. She was breathing slower now, more normally. Her joints were unlocking and slowly she made to stand. _Don’t do it._ Shirabu wanted to hiss. _Don’t you fucking—_

 _Crack!_ as a chunk of the door gave under the force of a swung axe. And another. The actress was screaming. So were half of the people in the cinema. Shirabu could only count himself fortunate that he was part of the half that wasn’t.

“Good call.”

Shirabu winced at the first spray of blood, gazed forlornly at his strawberry Fanta, then turned to Ushijima. “What?”

“When she was moving towards the door you said ‘don’t do it’.” Ushijima said, eyes glued to the still-ongoing gore-fest. “I was praising your foresight.”

And there it was again, his heart back in his throat and pumping like that time he drank three cans of Red Bull on a dare. “I—uh…ah…thank you.”

 _Nice, Kenjirou. A real bag of wits, you are. How long did it take you to come up with_ that _one?_

Shirabu was pretty sure hearing voices was classified as a symptom of some degree of insanity. It was just his luck that his inner voices inherited his sass. Maybe this was karmic retribution from all the times he’d dished out shade to Semi and Goshiki. If he promised not to kill them would he be forgiven?

The sounds of an axe chopping into flesh and bone and everything in between finally stopped, leaving the heaving, satisfied breaths of a killer. Shirabu went right back to his popcorn as the scene shifted to her brother, who was on his way home to a house with a dead sister and an axe-crazy murderer. Lovely.

“Who do you think would be the first on the team to die in a horror movie?”

Shirabu almost hacked up the kernel he’d swallowed. Head snapping so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. Yup. That was definitely still Ushijima-san. But where on earth had _that_ come from?

Ushijima angled his head to meet his gaze and Shirabu quickly schooled his expression into something a little less _who are you and what the fuck did you to Ushijima-san_ and little more _that was a very interesting question, let me formulate a reply deserving of it_. 

He took a moment to genuinely think it through. Then, “Goshiki?”

Ushijima’s head tilted curiously. Shirabu resisted the urge to snap a quick photo because _cute! Cute! Too cute!_. “Why do you say so?”

“He just seems like he’d be tricked into dying first.” Oh, Shirabu could picture it already. “Usually the murderer lures the naïve ones into following him. Then he’d get them into an isolated area and that’s where he’ll kill them.”

(He was sure he was being 100% objective here. Not projecting. Totally not projecting at all.)

“Then again, in some movies they tend to keep that character alive a little longer.” Shirabu continued, hooking a finger under his chin in thought. “Sometimes they’ll use them as a proxy for the audience, since characters of that type will need stuff explained to them a lot.”

Ushijima stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly in bewilderment. “You’re…quite knowledgeable about this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirabu would have internally preened, responded with an aloof _I read. You should try it sometime_. As it were, he could only duck, hiding the giddy smile working its way up his face. “I like analyzing tropes. It’s…interesting to see all these patterns in media.”

Ushijima chuckled, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The smile was barely there, and the laugh easily sounded like an aborted sneeze, but they made Shirabu’s heart stop all the same.

“I never knew that about you.” 

Shirabu swallowed, slowly picked up his Fanta and took a good, long sip. But it wasn’t really helping. Not when Ushijima huddled close like he was sharing a secret, eyes bright with curiosity facing Shirabu instead of the movie, his breath warm against his face...

“Who would stay alive until the end?”

Shirabu nearly choked on his drink.

-

Shirabu didn’t know when exactly _watching a movie_ turned into _analyzing the likelihood of survival of our teammates if we were hypothetically thrust into a horror movie plot_ but in the middle of defending his theory about Tendou being the anti-hero archetype, the cinema’s soffit lights turned on, the end credits slowly rolling up the screen.

“Well,” Shirabu yawned, futilely tamping it down with the back of his hand, “there went the ending.”

“It wasn’t particularly interesting.” Ushijima murmured, also sounding marginally sleepy. “Your story was better, to be honest.”

“Why, because you’re the one who made it alive until the end and led a group of survivors along the way?”

Shirabu punctuated this with a cheeky smile, but as usual, it bounced off of Ushijima’s head, who was already standing up, dusting off popcorn from his jeans.

“I’m the captain.” Ushijima only responded matter-of-factly. “In such an event, it would still be my responsibility to keep you all safe.”

“All the protagonists surviving until the end doesn’t sound like a horror movie.” Shirabu pouted, recalling all the ways Ushijima refuted any possible death scene by saying _I wouldn’t let anybody out of my sight or separate from the group_ or _Reon took up boxing, once. I’m sure he can fight him off even if he had a weapon_ or some other factoid about the others that would conveniently help them survive an encounter with a murderer relatively unscathed.

“You sound a little too upset at the idea of all of us staying alive. Should I be worried?”

Ushijima…joked. An occurrence so rare that Shirabu’s head snapped up to witness it in its entirety.

“Did you just…” Shirabu stuttered, mouth hanging open. Shirabu could swear, could _swear_ on his own life that Ushijima smirked mischievously, hand reaching up to cover it up with a yawn.

“How are you getting home?”

“My mom is picking me up in the entrance beside the coffee shop.” He replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the quick change of topic. “What about you?”

“My mother will also be picking me up.” Ushijima answered, already fiddling with his phone. “She hasn’t texted yet. What about yours?”

As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He stood and pulled it out, saw three messages from his mom, the last one asking if the movie had finished already.

“Yeah.” He muttered, wincing at the timestamp of the _I’m here_ text that told him she’d been waiting for twenty minutes. She always did tend to overestimate traffic.

He nearly jumped at the first feel of it: a hand on his lower back, uncharacteristically soft and gentle coming from a person powerful enough to spike a ball at more than a hundred kilometers per hour. He looked down, and indeed there it was, Ushijima’s hand coming up to rest on the curve of his spine, applying a more natural pressure when Shirabu didn’t flinch away. Ushijima was looking down too, an odd fascination in his eyes, his thumb sweeping in a curious arc.

“I’ll walk you.” Ushijima finally said, coaxing him forward, and Shirabu could only nod, mentally smacking his inner voice for the very welcome comment about _only a little lower and he’d be touching your ass_. 

That hand didn’t drop from his back even after they crossed into the bright interior of the mall. It was late. The place was deserted spare for the patrons filing out of the last shows of the cinema. Oddly enough he didn’t feel tense, or ill at ease with the hand guiding his back in what could easily be misconstrued as an intimate gesture if anyone just so happened to glance.

But Ushijima’s hand was solid and warm and…nice…on his back, fitting just right. He wondered briefly how it would feel completely curled over his waist, or his shoulder, _or your ass_ —

Ushijima only spared him an alarmed glance when he smacked his forehead, blinking slowly when he hissed _just a mosquito. A very annoying, moment-ruining mosquito_ under his breath.

-

His mother waved from inside the car just as Ushijima’s hand fell away. Shirabu literally had to bite down the whine of disappointment. He waved weakly when she rolled down the driver side window and shot her head and arm out, suddenly pausing when she realized they were the only two heading towards her.

“Oh? Just Ushijima-kun? I remember Kenjirou saying there would be…more of you.”

“It’s a long story, ma.” Shirabu sighed, pausing by the driver’s window to kiss her on the cheek, before going around to enter the passenger side. Which reminded him: first thing tomorrow, murder teammates.

His mother raised her expertly-drawn brows, red lips pursed, but she quickly shifted to a full-blown smile when she faced Ushijima, who was hovering just outside the passenger door. “Thank you for taking care of my son, Ushijima-kun.”

“It’s no problem at all, Shirabu-san.” Ushijima responded with a bow, ever polite, before turning to him. “Have a good night, Shirabu.”

There was so much Shirabu wanted to say: _maybe, let’s do this again next time?_ with a flirtatious smile just barely edging on suggestive. He wanted to keep pushing, wanted to try his luck a little bit more to see what it got him, but at the same time he was happy. He was inexplicably happy and content and completely fine to wallow in the fizzy giddiness in his belly, the glowing warmth still tingling on his back.

He smiled, completely open and unguarded with how it split open his face and squinted his eyes until he couldn’t see. “I already did. Thank you for tonight, Ushijima-san.”

And this time it was unmistakable. Ushijima smiled at him. Thin lips curved into a sweet little arc. And dear god, it made Shirabu want to kiss him.

Ushijima waved goodbye and bid a final _have a safe drive_ before Shirabu rolled up the window, eyes still magnetized to the shrinking image of Ushijima in the rearview mirror, a dazed smile on his face.

(The spell was rudely and immediately broken when his mother chirped in with a bright _You never told me you had a boyfriend, Kenjirou!_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O-MA-KE  
> *Tendou and Semi, Tendou's room, Ushijima on loudspeaker*  
> Tendou: HOW'D IT GO, WAKATOSHI? GIMME DETAILS. I NEED DETAILS!  
> Ushijima: It went well. We had ramen and watched that horror movie.  
> Semi: And?  
> Ushijima: We had a discussion about the likelihood of our team's survival should we suddenly find ourselves faced with a horror movie scenario.  
> Tendou: ...O...kay...whatever floats your boat Waka--  
> Semi: Anything else? Anything after that?  
> Ushijima: I walked him to the mall's entrance. He was quite tense though. Perhaps it was because I had my hand on his back--  
> Tendou: YAS. YAS. THAT'S MY BOY. WAKATOSHI YOU /SLY DOG/. AND ON THE FIRST DATE???  
> Semi: *covers mic* does it even count as the first date if we ambushed them into having it?  
> Ushijima: Tendou sounds healthy already. That ginger tea certainly works wonders, does it not?  
> Tendou+Semi: ......*cough* yeah *coughcoughcough* ginger tea,

**Author's Note:**

> [porn and debauchery and awkward fluff](http://plumtreeforest.tumblr.com)~


End file.
